


A Reflection of Mere Pride

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-19
Updated: 2002-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 04:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10352142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: Season: Pre-Stargate the MovieSummary: Sara rides a rollercoaster of emotions as she receives news of Jack. Sequel toMore than Mere Duty





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

A Reflection of Mere Pride

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose 

under heaven.

A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn ...

Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 

 

The raucous sounds of fighter jets filling her house brought a wane smile to Sara O’Neill’s pale face. It was there and gone in a flash, but to Liz Cromwell it was tantamount to a sunny day in May. Sara didn’t smile anymore now that Jack was gone. It had been over two months since that awful day when she had received word of Jack’s death in the Gulf. Two months didn’t seem like such a long time in the scheme of things, but to Sara it was a lifetime.

Dear Jack; impulsive, generous, mischievous, dedicated, brave, dead. Liz turned away, her own eyes blinking rapidly to quell the tears that suddenly betrayed her brittle emotions. Roget could have written the entire thesaurus and still not have completely described Jack. There were just too many dimensions to his personality, too many facets. Just when Liz thought she had a handle on the man who was Jack O’Neill, damn if he didn’t surprise her again. Now she had to deal with Jack’s ultimate surprise. When she had gotten word of his death, her first desperate hope had been that it was just another of the legendary O’Neill practical jokes, but then she had received the call from Frank and she knew. Oh God, she knew, he was gone and it hurt so bad.

To Sara, he was lover, protector, partner, and best friend. When he walked into a room, the light in her eyes was shining for anyone to see. It was the same light which answered in Jack’s eyes as he sought out his wife from a crowd. They had placed a candle for each other in the window of their souls. Now Sara’s candle had been extinguished, as surely as Jack’s. Never again would he come striding into the room, strong and proud, devilishly handsome in his uniform, unaware of the heads he turned, focused only on his objective, his love, his wife. 

To Charlie he was Dad, partner, coach, and pal. He was the confidant with whom 

Charlie could share his little boy secrets, his hopes, his fears. He was the fellow adventurer and explorer when they went for hikes through the woods in search of treasure. They always found something wonderful and exciting to bring home and share with Mom. He was the real-life super hero who lived at Charlie’s house. Who needed Superman? His dad could do it all, from juggling to jumping out of airplanes. But now Charlie knew that there was one thing his Dad wasn’t able to do. He couldn’t stop a speeding bullet like Superman. Maybe the bad guys in the Gulf used bullets made out of kryptonite. Maybe they didn’t know how much he needed and missed his Daddy. Maybe they didn’t know he cried at night after his mom went to bed. Maybe.

To Frank he was team mate, best bud, back-up, and support. They were two of a kind. The self proclaimed Laurel and Hardy, Abbot and Costello, Martin and Lewis, all rolled together. Completely dedicated to God and County, the oath they had taken, the uniform they wore. Beyond that; however, there was a deeper bond. Once in a great while, sometimes once in a lifetime, a person was lucky enough to find a friend closer than a brother. Frank had been fortunate to find Jack O’Neill. They endured training together, shared doubts, shared fears. Most of the time words weren’t even necessary. They gave each other well placed kicks in the seats when needed and stood beside each other, straight and tall, as they watch their respective brides walk down the aisle. They had bailed each other out, chewed each others’ butts, and picked each other up after missions gone bad. They had been there for each other, teasing that they were closer than most married couples. For better or worse, till death do us part. Now it had.

It was inanely wrong, for a piece of the puzzle that bound them all together to be missing, Liz thought grimly. How could a man who was so important to them all, suddenly be gone? The five of them, five points on a star. Who ever heard of a four sided star? Not even Jack would have been able to find one of those as he searched the skies at night with that telescope he loved so much. Wasn’t there a constellation up there where the sands of time ran backwards in the hourglass? If only there was. Liz would have given anything to be able to change fate, to make Sara smile again, to give Charlie his daddy, to bring Jack back and make things right again.

Damn Desert Storm for putting Sara through this hell. Damn the Air Force for taking good men and letting them die alone in the sand. Damn Jack O’Neill and his sense of duty. The same sense of duty that now left Sara to deal with the pain and grief of his loss. Deal with the million and one daily challenges of raising their son alone, going on with life, and somehow learning to live without him. Deal with the inconsistency of being filled with so much pride in your husband you ache when you see him, but hating him for the job he was called on to do. That kind of mixed emotions could break, had broken, many Air Force wives. Now Sara was struggling with the awful price of that pride. 

One of Liz’s favorite quotes from Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost, suddenly came to mind, "I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop." Sara was the one stooping with sorrow.

Frank had been home for almost three weeks now. He had come home dark with the depression of survivor’s guilt. It was a pall over his soul. As Liz lay awake at night in Frank’s arms, tears wetting his shoulder, she knew without looking that his tears were mixed with hers and she prayed he would find some measure of comfort. Frank was as good at camouflaging his feeling as Jack had been. It spoke volumes of the depth of his pain. She had watched, as he stood dry-eyed, as his mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, Jack standing at attention in his dress blues, in silent support next to him. She had seen her husband reach out a steady hand to grasp his friend’s shoulder as the doctor told him that there were complications after eighteen hours of labor. And the two men hug each other unashamedly when Sara gave Jack a son. Now he wept silently for the loss of his best friend.

**********

Sara slowly walked from room to room picking up Charlie’s scattered toys. Liz and Frank had left hours ago, but Sara just couldn’t face her lonely bed. The Cromwell’s had been great. There had hardly been a day go by that Liz didn’t stop in to spend a little while talking over a cup of coffee. Just reminding her that she still had someone who cared. Somehow Liz always to manage to show up to support her when any of the other officer’s wives dropped in for a visit and to find out new gossip for the mill. "What was she going to do? Was she going to look for work? How was Charlie taking it? Had Jack left her financially secure?" The bitches! Why couldn’t it have been one of their husbands? See how they like the Spanish Inquisition Air Force style. The first time Liz had found her in tears, she had wrapped her arms around Sara’s shoulders and let her cry herself dry. From that time she had stood between Sara and the gossipmongers, shielding her from their version of friendly fire. 

Nights were always the worst. During the day Charlie kept her mind busy, but at night the memories were overwhelming. She was afraid to sleep. Afraid she would see Jack’s crumpled body covered in blood. Those scientists who said you couldn’t dream in color obviously hadn’t lost a husband in the Iraqi desert, because her dreams were filled with plenty of color. Chocolate brown eyes filled with pain, stared at her, begged her to help. A dress blue uniform covering a broad chest full of decorations. It was suddenly saturated with bright red blood, blood which blotted out the shiny medals, until red was all she could see. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he would scream her name. "Sara!" And like an old fashion movie in slow motion, he would collapse and the blowing sand would fill his mouth and cover his eyes, as he slowly disappeared beneath the dunes. The last thing she would see was the blood covered medal, shiny, slick, red. And then she would wake up screaming and shaking with fright. It was safer not to sleep.

Sara knew she had to start eating more, sleeping, taking better care of herself for Charlie’s sake. She was all he had left now. But, oh God, it was hard. She bent down and picked up a fighter jet Frank had brought Charlie. It was so hard seeing them play together. She knew Frank was hurting, too. She was so ashamed of her thoughts as she watched another man entertaining Jack’s son. Ugly thoughts of why couldn’t it have been Frank. God, she was so ashamed. Liz was her best friend. Tears filled Sara’s eyes and tracked warm down her cheeks. Jack would be so ashamed of her. He would never let a stranger, much less his best friend, take his place, not even if it cost him coming home to she and Charlie. It was part of what made Jack the man she loved. 

Setting the plane on the coffee table, Sara walked out into the yard and searched for their star. Over the past two months she had grown to relish the comfort it brought. Their star was unchanging, unaffected by events such as life or death. Tonight it seemed even the elements were contriving to steal even that much peace, as the overcast skies obscured the constellations. Disappointed, Sara turned towards the house. A sudden chill breeze encircled her causing her to shiver. Sara O’Neill was too practical and down-to-earth to be superstitious, but as she hurried into the warmth of her kitchen, rubbing the goosebumps which had cropped up on her arms, she couldn’t suppress the shudder than ran through her slender frame. Jack’s Irish grandmother would have had something to say about someone walking on her grave. Sara shivered again. The clock struck a single stroke. Maybe tonight she would sleep, maybe tonight there would be no dreams. ‘Maybe,’ she thought as she slowly climbed the stairs towards the bedroom.

**********

The call came just as they were leaving the house. Much to Sara’s surprise and relief, she had actual slept well. Liz had called earlier and suggested that they take Charlie on a picnic in the park. The fresh air would be good for all of them. Sara had let herself be persuaded and much to her own surprise had promised to bake a blueberry pie. It was Jack’s - ... it had been Jack’s favorite. Charlie loved it too, and her Dad, knowing this, kept them supplied with fresh berries he got at the Farmer’s Market. It was her ‘specialty’. 

The one Jack always insisted she take to potlucks and then stood in line to get the first piece. This was the first pie she had made since her world had collapsed, but somehow she knew it would have made Jack happy that she was taking this small step towards putting her life back together. 

Charlie ran towards the Cromwell’s jeep laughing at the joke his Uncle Frank had told him. Wait till he told his mom. She didn’t like jokes as much as Dad did, but she would still laugh. Maybe he could tell God his joke and ask Him to tell his Dad. He talked to God a lot about Dad.

Sara was just locking the door when she heard the phone ringing. Waving for Frank to come and take the pie, Sara hurried in to grab it. It was probably just her Dad checking on her. 

As Frank walked into the room to retrieve the coveted pie, he was surprised to see Sara’s eyes widen. The color drained from her already pale features and as he watched, the pie she was carefully balancing on one hand suddenly plummeted to the floor and shattered, blueberry juice soaking and staining the beige carpet. 

Grabbing Sara’s shoulders and gently sitting her on the couch, Frank took the phone from her unresisting hand. "This is Captain Frank Cromwell, who the hell is this?" he barked into the receiver.

Liz walked into the room, after telling Charlie she would find out what was taking so long. She found Sara sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with shock. Frank wore the same look as he stood with the dead phone clutched in his fist. 

Walking quickly to her husbands side, Liz placed her hand on his chest. "Frank, what is it? What’s going on?"

Her touch seem to shatter the man’s control. He spun away from her, still clutching the phone. It clattered to the floor with an aborted crash causing Liz to jump. Pacing recklessly around the room, muttering curses under his breath, Frank suddenly slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the drywall. "Dammit to hell, he’s alive, Jack’s alive and I left him behind!" Liz watched as her husband leaned against the damaged wall and buried his face in his arms. 

Tearing her eyes away from her husband, Liz slowly turned towards her friend still staring into space from her seat on the couch. She was apparently oblivious to the destruction around her. Kneeling down in front of her, Liz asked softly, "Sara?"

"It was Colonel West," Sara whispered. "He called to tell me that he had just received word that Jack has been captured and is a prisoner of war in Iraq." She paused as the maelstrom of thoughts swirled wildly around her. Finally she looked up into Liz’s caring hazel eyes. "He’s alive, Liz," she whispered, "Jack’s alive." The women wrapped their arms around each other while tears of joy streamed down their cheeks. 

In the end in was Liz who took Charlie on the promised picnic. Frank had left for West’s office with no explanation and Sara needed some time to be alone. 

Without really knowing how she had gotten there, Sara found herself in her bedroom, Jack’s worn ballcap clutched to her breasts. Suddenly she was sobbing. ‘He was alive.’ Without warning, she was terrified that this was a dream and when she awoke she would find out she was still living in the nightmare of Jack’s death. ‘Oh God, let it be true, let it be true.’ She felt like a child wishing on a star. If she believed hard enough maybe she would get her wish. 

Sara lay back with her head resting on Jack’s pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly her mind drifted through Colonel West’s words. Jack had been wounded and captured. He was a POW in an Iraqi prison camp. What did that mean? Wouldn’t the Air Force get him out, exchange one of their prisoners for Jack? Wasn’t that done all the time? 

********** 

The following days were filled with confusion for Sara. She had tried to explain a situation to Charlie which she could barely grasp herself. For some reason she didn’t understand, the Cromwells had quit coming over. Frank had sent a man over to fix the wall, but when Sara had called to thank him, he had barely been civil. She was confused and hurt over Liz’s apparent abandonment. Liz was refusing her calls and when Sara saw her friend at the store one morning, she could see that Liz had been crying although she refused to say why. 

Sara’s emotions ran the gamut: joy, fear, anger, hurt, and back again. She lay awake at night staring into the darkness holding the ballcap like a talisman. She knew next to nothing about Iraq. She had gone to the city library and found a book on the Middle East. The dark skinned soldiers with their machine guns, the veiled women, it was all so different from the life she was living. She found it impossible to picture Jack in that setting. Instead of drawing her closer to Jack, it made her feel that much further away from him. She slammed the book shut in frustration, earning a glare from the librarian.

The days passed slowly. It seemed that time almost stood still as she waited for the phone to ring, waited for news. She cleaned the house tirelessly, fearful that it might not be perfect when Jack came home. The blueberry stain still marred the carpet. She had scrubbed it on her hands and knees until her hands were raw, but in the end she had to admit defeat and had moved the furniture around to cover the spot. Sometimes you just can’t make things right and the best you can do is simply work with what you have left, she decided.

She missed Liz. She had heard through the grapevine that Frank had returned to the Gulf, but she never had the nerve to face the rebuff she feared she would receive should she call her friend. Sara had heard the rumors of how the mission had gone bad, how Jack had been shot and Frank had made the call to pull out and leave his friend behind. It was the talk of the base. She knew the phone lines were burning up with gossip about the O’Neill’s and the Cromwells. Sara felt isolated. She felt betrayed; betrayed by the Cromwells, the Air Force, God, and even Jack himself. She called Colonel West’s office daily asking, practically begging for news, but was told the information was classified and that they would call her should things change. Damn them and their ‘need to know’ mentality. Didn’t West understand that she needed to know? 

That need became an obsession which shadowed her every move. As she sat down with Charlie at supper and looked at the food she wondered, ‘Was Jack hungry?’

When she lay in their bed at night she thought, ‘What kind of bed was Jack sleeping on?’ As she stared at their star from her garden sanctuary, she prayed Jack could find it in the desert skies and was thinking of her.’

In some ways it was harder to live this way than it had been when she had no hope. This emotional rollercoaster dragged her up and down and stretched her nerves to the breaking point. She was so afraid to hope, afraid if she did, Jack would die in the far away prison. So she swallowed her hope and lived with fear.

The breaking point came one day when Charlie was playing with some friends and the house was quiet, too quiet. Sara had turned on the television for noise and company. She was dusting the vase Jack’s parents had given them as a wedding present. Holding the heavy Irish crystal to the light, Sara watched the colors dance from the prisms etched in the cut glass. She suddenly became aware of the show on the television, Hogan’s Heroes. Sara had watched it many times. She had laughed at the antics of the prisoners. She had even teased Jack about having to outsmart an enemy like Colonel Klink. He had looked at her with an evil grin and quipped in an atrocious German accent, "I know nothing." Then he had grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground, tickling her unmercifully until she had surrendered and begged him to stop. Sara suddenly felt sick. This show with its well fed prisoners, who ran the camp, was making light of Jack’s situation. Anger coursed through her and with all her strength she hurled the heavy vase at the television. In horror, Sara watched as the vase missed the set and shattered against the bricks of the fireplace. The fragile control she held on her emotions seem to shatter as well and Sara sank to her knees and wept.

********** 

Four months didn’t seem like a long time. It was less than half the time she had carried Charlie in her womb. It was only one season: spring, summer, winter, or fall, take your pick. It was only one hundred twenty days. It was only a lifetime. 

Jack was coming home. He had been released - finally. Sara had been unable to contain the tears of joy when she had received the call. It was just a matter of time now until he would be flying back to the States, back to she and Charlie. The colonel had explained to her that Jack would be spending some time in various hospitals until he was ready to be shipped stateside. He didn’t say when, he didn’t say why. 

All Sara knew was that her husband was coming home and suddenly life was worth living again. Everything would be back to normal. She would be happy, Charlie would be happy, and most importantly, Jack would be happy, just like before. All the pain and darkness of the past four months was over. She did believe in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and Santa Claus, and fairy tales that ended in ‘they lived happily ever after.’ Her ‘ever after’ was on his way home and she would never let him slip away again. She couldn’t wait to see her 

Flyboy standing straight and tall, proud in his dress blues. Her mother had always said , "Pride goeth before the fall," but Sara knew that she had already fallen and picked herself up. She had hit the bottom. Nothing could have been worse than the hell she had endured these last four months. Nothing, but it was over. Jack was coming home. 

**The End**

NEXT STORY OF SERIES: [**[ New Strength Awakening ]**](http://astele.co.uk/StargateFan/Chapter/fictionkp/NewStrengthAwakening.htm)   


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> Author’s note: This story is a sequel to my August ‘02, WaM story, ["More Than Mere Duty"](http://astele.co.uk/StargateFan/Chapter/fictionkp/MoreThanMereDuty.htm). Many thanks to Denise and Chrisbod for encouraging me to write the next chapter of Sara’s story.  
> 

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>   
> © October, 2002 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.   
> 

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